


Rain Against A Window

by sunlight-and-storms (all_i_see_is_sky)



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Anastasia AU, F/F, M/M, both fitz AND biana are anastasia, how? i have no idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_i_see_is_sky/pseuds/sunlight-and-storms
Summary: Dex continues, “have you heard the rumors? About the prince and princess?”“You mean the princess whose name is so similar to mine I visibly react whenever anyone mentions her? Yeah, I’ve heard of her.”“They’re saying-” and here Dex’s voice drops to a whisper- “that Fitzroy and Bianca are alive.”
Relationships: Dex Dizznee/Fitz Vacker, Sophie Foster/Biana Vacker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	1. Whispers In An Alleyway

**Author's Note:**

> In which the scene is set, characters are introduced, and a gunshot echoes across Russia.

_ St Petersburg, Russia. October 12, 1917.  _

_ Della rushes through the palace hallways, holding tight to the hands of her two smallest children. Fitzroy stumbles, and she pulls him to his feet.  _

_ “Come on, sweetheart,” she says. “We need to keep going.” _

_ She doesn’t know where Alden and Alvar are. As soon as the shouts of “assassin” had been heard, she had taken Fitzroy and Bianca and run. She hopes that her husband and her eldest son are all right. _

_ They turn into a hallway, and Della can see the doorway that will lead them outside at the end. She breathes a sigh of relief- they’re almost there. They’re going to make it.  _

_ Gently, she pushes Bianca and Fitzroy forward towards the door, spinning around when she hears footsteps behind them. Della’s sags when she sees Alvar standing there.  _

_ “Al, thank goodness,” she says. “Come on, we need to leave.” _

_ “You’re right,” Alvar says coldly. “You do.” _

_ Della blinks. “Alvar?” _

_ Slowly, her son reaches behind himself and points a gun at her. Della freezes. “Alvar,” she pleads, “Don’t do this. You’re better than this.” _

_ Alvar snorts. “Funny. I wasn’t aware you thought of me as ‘better’ than anything.”  _

_ “Alvar-” Della starts, shooing her other children towards the exit behind her back. Alvar growls.  _

_ “Even now, they’re more important than me.” _

_ “They’re not,” Della says. “But it’s me you’re frustrated with. Don’t take it out on them.” _

_ “I’m not frustrated,” Alvar responds coolly, gun never shifting in his hand. “I’m simply tired of this facade.” He steps closer.  _

_ “You’ll see. Or, you won’t, really. But as you go blind, know that this is what’s best for Russia.” _

_ He pulls the trigger.  _

* * *

_ St Petersburg, Russia. February 23, 1927. _

“Comrades!”

A crowd surrounds a wooden platform, the man atop it spreading his arms wide. “The revolution hears you. Each and every one of you. Together, we will forge a new Russia that will be the envy of all the world!” The crowd erupts into tears, and he gives the people below a wide smile.

This is Alvar, the ex-Vacker prince who took out his mother and siblings in a single night. Everyone in Russia- or, at least, in the general area around Petersburg- knows him. Some love him, some hate him, but all are agreed on one thing: you don’t mess with Alvar. Those who do tend to disappear. 

A brown-haired girl lurks on the edge of the onlookers, frown deepening with each word Alvar says. When he begins to wrap up his speech, she sighs and ducks into an alleyway. 

This is Biana Dizznee, fifteen year old scam artist and oddly good singer. She’s technically an orphan, but she’ll refute any claim towards that-  _ this is my family,  _ she’ll say, gesturing towards the Dizznees,  _ not some people who didn’t even care enough to keep me.  _ She disapproves of the current government, not that she’d ever be loud about it; she likes being alive very much, thank you. 

Biana moves along the dirty streets to a small market, loud with the sound of voices. She walks over to a boy with strawberry-blond hair, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns around, leaning against the fruit stall they’re standing in front of. 

“Hey, Bi. What’s going on?”

Biana shrugs, picking up an apple and inspecting it for spots. She doesn’t know why she even bothers anymore, honestly- any and all fruit that’s being sold down here is sure to be half-rotted already. “Not much. Alvar’s on another of his tangents. Apparently Petersburg is now called ‘Leningrad.’”

Dex snorts. “Good luck with that.”

This is Dex Dizznee, Biana’s adopted brother. People say he can fix everything; and, while almost true, fixing things is nowhere near his most useful talent. No, that would be his ability to forge papers, hotwire machines, pick locks. If Biana’s the face of their little group, the one who talks their way out, Dex is the one who gets things done. 

“Right?” Biana agrees, giving up on her apple. “He’s tried stuff like this before, too. It won’t work- Petersburg will always be Petersburg, no matter how many new names they give it. The tsar’s influence is too strong for that.”

“Speaking of the tsar,” Dex says casually. Biana recognizes the twinkle in his heads and jerks her head covertly to the left. They move out of the market, out of earshot of anyone incriminating. Biana raises an eyebrow and Dex continues, “have you heard the rumors? About the prince and princess?”

“You mean the princess whose name is so similar to mine I visibly react whenever anyone mentions her? Yeah, I’ve heard of her.”

“They’re saying-” and here Dex’s voice drops to a whisper- “that Fitzroy and Bianca are  _ alive. _ ”

Biana scoffs. “That’s impossible. Alvar killed them- he boasts about it once a week.”

Dex shrugs. “Maybe so. All I know is that the Ruewens, over in Paris, are offering a huge reward if someone brings them the lost Vackers.”

A slow smile creeps over Biana’s face. “And if someone was to, say, bring them the lost Vackers, or people who  _ seemed  _ like the lost Vackers…”

“That  _ someone  _ would get a reward.” Dex finishes. “A reward so huge we could pay off all of Mom’s medical bills right now.”

“Then let’s do it,” Biana says. “It can’t be too hard, right? I could play Bianca, you could be Fitz-” she trails off, thinking. “No, that won’t work. I look pretty close to a Vacker, teal eyes and all that, but you’re not even the right  _ skin tone. _ ”

“But you know who  _ is? _ ” Dex responds. “That streetsweeper everyone keeps thinking is your brother.”

Biana gasps. “You’re right. That’s brilliant.”

“All we need to do is get him on board.”

* * *

A light mist settles over the city as a teal-eyed boy sweeps a broom across the sidewalks, shivering as the cold sets into his clothes. Passer-bys push him this way and that, barely sparing him a glance. 

This is Fitz. He doesn’t know quite who he is, or why he’s in Russia, but he doesn’t need to.  _ Sweep the streets,  _ he’s told, and sweep the streets he does. It’s a simple, mind-numbing job, but Fitz doesn’t care- if his mind is numb, it distracts from the numerous blank spots in his memory. 

He’s just finished, leaning his broom against the wall inside a small hat shop, when a truck in the street backfires, emitting a loud  _ bang.  _ Unbidden, Fitz flinches. 

Loud noises startle him. The nurses at the hospital believe that it’s a side effect of getting shot in the head, that every shot-like sound will trigger him, but Fitz thinks it’s more than that. 

Loud noises these days, after all, never mean anything good. 

The truck on the road moves on, a small paper-wrapped package falling out of the back. Curiously, Fitz picks it up and peeks inside. 

It’s an ornate box, initialed with a gold-inlaid  _ V  _ that even Fitz, with his limited memory, knows- the sign of the royal family. He moves to tilt the lid open, but footsteps behind him make him hurriedly rewrap the box and turn around. 

“Hello,” a girl with eyes the same shade as Fitz’s says. “We’d like to talk.” She loops her arm through his and Fitz’s eyes go wide. He pushes away, trying to back up. A boy with red hair, standing a few feet behind the girl, sighs. 

“Bi, that’s probably not the best way to do this. You sound like you’re kidnapping him.”

Bi makes a considering noise and nods. “You’re right. Sorry,” she says to Fitz. “Just to clarify, ‘We want to talk’ wasn’t a way of saying ‘we want to kidnap you’- we actually  _ do  _ just want to talk.”

Fitz narrows his eyes at them, gesturing towards the hat shop in front of them. They huddle under the awning, and Fitz raises an eyebrow. 

“Talk,” he says. Bi turns to her friend. 

“Uh, okay,” she starts. “First of all, I’m Biana, and this is Dex. And we.. well. You’ve heard of the Vackers, right?”

Five minutes later, Fitz leans against the glass of the shop window, staring at them. “You’re going to impersonate the prince and princess and go to Paris to get money,” he says, “and you want  _ me  _ to help?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dex agrees. “We’ll give you a third of the profits, though. What do you say?”

Fitz should say no. He should say no, and walk away, and tell the government. That’s what a loyal citizen would do, and Fitz has worked hard to be a loyal citizen.

But something in the back of his mind says  _ Paris,  _ and something in the back of his mind says  _ you need to get out of here,  _ and something in the back of his mind says  _ aren’t you tired of being a streetsweeper,  _ and Fitz finds he can’t say no.

“I’ll do it.”

* * *

The rumor mill in Russia flows as steadily as the Neva river, always staying its course. It can be diverted, of course, and it is- sometimes to Germany, sometimes to Belarus, sometimes to France. 

Now, rumors flow to Paris, where a blond girl walks the streets, greeting people who she knows. She smiles and chuckles and seems, for all the world, like a people person.

She is not.

This is Sophie Ruewen, previously Foster. She’s the adopted daughter of Grady and Edaline Ruewen, ex-count and countess of Russia. Sophie’s never actually been to Russia- her parents left before things got too bad. She’s heard the stories, though, and keeps an ear out for any rumors.

Rumors are flying around Paris today, though, and Sophie carefully commits them to memory. 

The Vacker siblings, it seems, are back. 

* * *

And back in Russia, Alvar sits in his office, door closed and scowling. People are saying Fitzroy and Bianca are alive, which is impossible. Alvar killed them himself.

Still, every rumor in St Petersburg has a hint of truth. 

Carefully, Alvar slides a drawer in his desk open and takes out his gun. 

Better safe than sorry, after all. 

* * *

This is Alvar, Biana, Dex, Fitz, and Sophie.

They don’t all know each other, not yet. They’re scattered, each with their own hopes and dreams and fears. Some of them are luckier than others. But all have a role to play in the drama of the Vackers.

This is Sophie, Fitz, Dex, Biana, and Alvar. 

And with them, on a cold February day, we set our scene. 


	2. Do Not Walk But Try To Float

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fitz and Biana learn how to be royalty, Dex is frustrated, and a strain of music trails across Fitz’s memory.

_ St Petersburg, Russia. December 14, 1915.  _

_ “But Eda, why do you have to leave?” _

_ Countess Edaline Ruewen smiles gently, tucking a strand of Fitzroy’s hair behind his ear. The four-year old is tucked into bed with his sister, the two of them looking up at Edaline with wide eyes.  _

_ “I have to go home, darlings,” she says. “I was only here to retrieve the last of my things. I need to get back to my family.” _

_ “Take us to Paris with you, then!” Bianca pipes up. Edaline laughs.  _

_ “I can’t do that. Your mother would miss you.” She sweeps them both into a hug. “But don’t worry. You can come to Paris someday, and meet Sophie.” _

_ “Sophie!” they chorus, and Edaline smiles.  _

_ “For now…” she leans down to retrieve the box she had specially commissioned in Paris. “You can have this.” _

_ Tinkling music fills the room as she tilts the box open, and Bianca claps her hands. Edaline leans down and hands the music box to Fitzroy. _

_ “Wherever you are, I’ll be with you,” she says. “Keep the music box safe.” _

_ And Fitzroy and Bianca do. They put it carefully on a shelf, take it out at night, handling it gingerly each time. They take it with them each time they leave the palace... until the very last time they leave. _

_ Then, the music box sits on its shelf, gathering dust, until a thief sneaks into the palace and steals it. It passes from hand to hand, finally falling off the back of a truck- _

_ And into the hands of the very boy who held it all those years ago. _

* * *

_ St Petersburg, Russia. February 24, 1927. _

Fitz’s memories start when he is seven years old. 

They say that he was found on the ground right outside the palace gates, bleeding from the head. The bullet was lodged in his skull, they said. It was a miracle he had survived. 

Fitz doesn’t believe in miracles. 

He believes in humans, in the doctors that healed him and raised him in the hospital for four years. He believes that they could have kept raising him, if the hospital hadn’t been shut down due to money loss. 

Miracles are for rich people, he thinks, for people that can afford those miracles, and Fitz certainly can’t. 

He wakes to the early-morning light, grabbing for his coat in the cold. The room he’s renting isn’t insulated, but at least it’s cheap. 

There’s a small  _ thud  _ as something in his coat pocket hits against the bedframe. Blinking, Fitz pulls it out to find the box from yesterday, paper wrapping coming apart in his hands. Gently, he tilts the lid open, and-

Nothing. It looks like some sort of music box, but no sound emits- Fitz assumes it’s broken. He shrugs, putting it back in his pocket and moving out onto the street; maybe he can sell it on the market or something. It would probably sell for enough to get to Paris. 

_ Paris.  _ The city that’s constantly in the back of Fitz’s mind, someone saying  _ “Don’t worry. You can come to Paris eventually.”  _ He doesn’t know what it means, or why he hears that voice in his dreams, but maybe just being in the city will help jog his memory. 

It’ll be better than being here, at least. 

He stops in front of the stage door of an old theater, slipping inside the building and sighing at its warmth. Biana sticks her head around a corner. 

“Morning,” she says, waving a hand at him. “Come on in.”

They move onto the stage, now riddled with old boxes and moth-eaten costumes. Fitz spots some other things, too- a lamp here, an overstuffed chair there, some food. He turns to Biana.

“Do you… live here?”

“Unfortunately.” Dex, crouched in front of one of the boxes, holds up a slim book triumphantly. “Found it!” He stands up, tossing the book to Fitz. “You’ll have to study that. It’s our only reliable source of information about Fitzroy and Bianca.”

Fitz stares at the book. “Um…”

“We’ll walk you through it,” Biana assures him. “I’ve already got most of the stuff down, so we can just focus on you for now.” She gestures towards the chair. “Sit down, close your eyes, and imagine a better time. Let Fitzroy Avery Vacker  _ embody  _ your soul.”

Dex snorts. “What does that even mean?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Biana asks, folding her arms. Dex moves over to Fitz’s chair and leans down, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“You are Prince Fitzroy,” he says. “You are a member of the royal family of Russia. Your sister is Bianca Vacker. You are highly temperamental. You-”

He’s cut off by Biana laughing.

“Are you trying to  _ hypnotize _ him?”

Dex flushes, turning away from Fitz to glare at his sister. “I was just trying to get the information in his brain.”

“By telepathically sending it to him?” Biana giggles. Dex glares at her and she sobers up. “You know what, why don’t we start with posture.”

“Posture?” Fitz asks, but he’s already being ushered out of his chair and stood in the middle of the stage. 

“Okay,” Biana says. “Shoulders up, stand up tall, and try to float.”

“How do you-” Fitz starts, moving forward on the tips of his toes. “Am I floating?”

“Like a sinking boat,” Dex says dryly. Biana rolls her eyes and continues,

“And then you’ll bow and kiss her hand.”

“Wait,  _ whose  _ hand?” Fitz asks. 

Biana shrugs. “Whatever woman you’re greeting, I guess. I don’t know- that’s just what the book says.”

“I-”

“Don’t worry,” Dex says, tilting his head at Biana. “If  _ she _ can learn to do it, you can learn to do it.” 

Biana huffs and Dex gives Fitz a smile. 

“So let’s get started.”

“Who’s your grandmother?”

“Queen Luzia,” Fitz responds. He’s sitting in the chair as Dex and Biana pace around, which makes him feel a bit like a prisoner being interrogated. 

“Great-great grandfather?” Biana asks. 

“Hm- oh! Prince Fallon of Saxe-Colburg-Saalfeld.”

“Who’s your best friend?” 

“My little sister Bianca,” Fitz says confidently. If there’s anything he’s learned today, it’s that Fitzroy and Bianca were very close. Dex sighs.

“Wrong! Your best friend is-”

“I  _ know  _ who my best friend is!”

Dex raises an eyebrow. “What a temper.”

“I  _ don’t _ like being contradicted,” Fitz responds. Dex huffs a laugh. 

“That makes two of us.”

Biana sighs, stepping between them. She places a hand on Dex’s shoulder. “I think we’re all tired,” she says. “And it’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t we take a break while I go get us some food or something.”

Dex shrugs. “Fine.”

Biana exits stage right, and the two of them are left alone in the empty theater. Idly, Fitz moves to the front of the stage and sits down, swinging his legs over the edge. Behind him, he hears a small sigh and then the sound of someone dropping down next to him.

“Yellow cat?” Dex asks. Fitz snorts, turning slightly to face him. 

“Count Terik,” he responds. “Boat parties?”

“Alina of Boden,” Dex says. They continue to throw facts back and forth, and Fitz is stunned to find that he actually remembers most of them. It’s… easier, somehow, to keep them in his head when he’s sitting here with Dex. He doesn’t think about that too hard.

“You know,” Dex says thoughtfully when they’ve run out of things to quote. “There’s one more aspect of royal life we haven’t covered yet.”

“What’s that?”

“Dancing.” Dex grins at him, standing up and offering Fitz a hand. Fitz considers. 

“That- sounds kind of fun, actually.”

Dex laughs, pulling Fitz to his feet. “Trust me, if you’re dancing with Biana, it’s  _ not. _ ”

“Is she that bad?”

“More like she’s that good and  _ I’m  _ that bad,” Dex responds. “I know the basics, though. I’ll lead. Here, your hand goes on my shoulder, and then your right foot goes back-”

They’ve managed to master a simple box step by the time Biana bursts back into the theater. 

“I brought food,” she sings, then stops short with a smirk. “Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Fitz suddenly notices how close he and Dex are standing. They scramble away from each other hurriedly. 

“Just teaching him how to dance!” Dex says quickly. Biana raises an eyebrow. 

“Mm-hm. Well, I got us lunch.”

Dex and Fitz reach for the food, exchanging glances that even Fitz himself can’t quite decipher. 

Outside the theater, a song whispers in the wind. 


	3. These Rumors That Prevail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alvar (previously Vacker) has to grow up far too fast, and Ruy makes an unexpected decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! This chapter refused to cooperate.

_ St Petersburg, Russia. October 12, 1917.  _

_ Alvar’s not entirely sure when he discovered he would never rule.  _

_ It might have been when he was nine, and had snuck into one of his father’s strategy meetings only to be thrown out of the room and given a talking-to later.  _

_ It might have been when he was eleven, and hadn’t been allowed to take part in the royal parade. He had stared out the window of his bedroom, watching the people below move back and forth.  _

_ It might have been when he was fourteen, and Alden had commissioned a family portrait while he was away in the country. His father had claimed it was just a way to welcome Fitzroy and Bianca to the family, but Alvar knew better.  _

_ That painting, the four of them smiling cheerfully out at the world with no sign anyone was missing, that painting was just another way to say he didn’t belong. One more rope tying him back from the rest of his family.  _

_ Really, that painting was the catalyst for everything that happened afterwards.  _

_ He meets Ruy when he’s sixteen. The boy has been posing as a kitchen server for the past few months, and it doesn’t take much for Alvar to figure out he’s up to something. So he corners him one day after dinner, pulling them into a room off the side of the main hall.  _

_ “I know what you’re doing,” he says quietly. There’s a flash of something in Ruy’s eyes- whether it’s fear or recognition, Alvar doesn’t know. “And I want to help.” _

_ Ruy tilts his head and smiles, a slow, sharp thing. “All right, then.” _

_ From that day forward, he isn’t Alvar Vacker, son of the tzar and shunned heir to the throne. He’s just Alvar, angry and determined to change things. Alvar, who masterminds a plan to overthrow the royal family. Alvar, who sneaks ten people into the palace one night, who helps explode the west wing, who points a gun at his mother and tries not to show how much he’s shaking.  _

_ At the end, the fire of his anger has burned out. The embers remain, glowing brightly, but there’s no smoke to cloud his mind. He’s just… tired of playing this part.  _

_ He’s never going to rule. He’s never going to be as important as his siblings. He’s never going to be  _ seen,  _ by anyone.  _

_ And he promises himself, as he pulls the trigger, that he’s never going to regret this.  _

* * *

_ St Petersburg, Russia. February 26, 1927. _

The city is quiet. 

Not in the literal sense, of course. Alvar is pretty sure the city has never been  _ literally  _ quiet. Even in the darkest hours of the night, there’s noise; laughter, singing, shouting. No, this quiet is subtler, almost unnoticeable if you don’t know what you’re looking for. The streams of gossip have slowed to a whisper. 

Alvar has ears in every district, but even his best aren’t hearing much. Something is changing, a new wind blowing into the city, and it brings with it the smell of hope. 

Hope, especially among the lower class, is never a good thing. 

There’s a knock at the office door and Ruy pokes his head in, face impassive but eyes twitching this way and that. 

“The new report came in,” he says, seating himself on a chair in front of Alvar’s desk. “I thought you would want to see it.” 

Nodding, Alvar takes the offered stack of paper and begins to flip through it. It’s normal stuff, mostly- records of Vacker-owned contraband being sold on the black market, a baker over by the Neva who’s been harboring nobles in his basement. Alvar makes a few notes and turns to the last page, which seems to be an itemized list of rumors all on the same subject. He growls and sets the report back on his desk. Ruy bites his lip. 

“Yeah. You- you don’t think there’s any truth to them, right? It’s impossible.”

“It  _ is  _ impossible,” Alvar says in a tone he hopes sends the message that this conversation is over. “Fitzroy and Bianca are dead.” He would know; he killed them himself. Still, Ruy seems apprehensive. 

“I know. But even rumors have some truth to them. And that night was so long ago-” Ruy hesitates, reaching across the desk to touch Alvar’s hand. “Do- are you sure you killed them?”

There are flashes of light behind Alvar’s eyes, screams echoing through hallways. The cold metal of a gun in his hand, his own face reflected back at him. He doesn’t relive that night, doesn’t think about it unless he has to. He doesn't regret it, not yet, but he’s afraid that he  _ will  _ if he thinks too hard. 

“Yes.” He pulls his hand away from Ruy’s, glaring at the other man. “I’m positive. They’re dead.”

“Okay.” Something crosses Ruy’s face, an emotion that’s gone as soon as it appears. He taps the paper again, on a list of names. “The Ruewens are offering a pretty big reward, though. Schemes are popping up all over the city.”

“So we bring them in.” Alvar marks a few names. “Not all of them, just enough to get our message across.”

“And our message is… what, exactly?”

Alvar meets Ruy’s eyes. “That anyone found consorting with the prince and princess will face the consequences.”

* * *

“Look,” Ruy says as calmly as he can, looking at the sobbing man across from him. “You’re not in trouble. I just need you to confirm you don’t know the Vackers.”

“I- I don’t know the Vackers!”

“And I’m sure you’re aware what the penalty for lying to an officer is.”

The man’s eyes go wide and he nods vigorously. “I promise, I’m not lying! I’ve never heard of any Vackers!”

That’s  _ obviously  _ a lie, but Ruy suspects it’s more out of panic than actual malice. Sighing, he waves towards the door. 

“Right. Well, goodbye.”

The door swings shut and Ruy sinks further into his chair, rubbing his temples. He hates this. It’s unnecessary and, to be honest, probably useless; he understands the need to find whoever’s trying to impersonate the prince and princess, but dragging in half the city isn’t going to help. If Fitzroy and Bianca really are alive, they’d have to be much too smart to just… be arrested. 

A knock on the door signifies the next person is about to be sent in. Ruy glances up, looks back down at his desk, and then does a double take. Because seventeen-year-old Alvar is standing in the doorway- or, not Alvar, not quite, but close enough. Same hair, same jawline, same slouching posture that still has hints of military upbringing. The only difference is the eyes- while Alvar’s are cold, dark blue, this boy has teal eyes. 

Teal eyes. Just like the Vackers. 

Ruy feels his blood run cold. 

“Sit down,” he croaks out, gesturing towards the hard wooden chair. The boy nods and lowers himself into it, looking around in slight confusion. 

“May I ask why I’m here?” he says. “Someone just grabbed me off the street-”

“What do you know about the Vackers?” Ruy asks. A look of recognition and fear passes over the boy’s face before it’s gone, schooled into something calmer. He shrugs. 

“They were the old royal family, taken down by the rebels. They’re almost all dead now.”

“Almost?”

The boy blinks. “Well, yeah. There’s Alvar, isn’t there?”

Oh. Right. It’s funny, really, how often Ruy manages to forget that Alvar is a Vacker; he’s just Alvar, to Ruy. Weird and annoyed and constantly angry, but not a _ prince.  _ Not a member of the tsar’s close family. 

But a prince he was, and a government leader he is, and Ruy would do well to remember that before he does something stupid like fall in love with the man. 

… Fall  _ even more  _ in love, that is. 

“Of course,” he says hastily, realizing he’s been silent for far too long. “I thought you meant something else. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there have been a surprising amount of rumors surrounding Prince Fitzroy lately.”

There it is- that flinch, that fearful look that flashes in his eyes. If Ruy wasn’t sure before, he is now; this boy knows something about the Vackers. Perhaps even  _ is _ one. 

“All right,” he says. “I’m going to need you to go to the second floor, where-” Ruy trails off, meeting the boy’s eyes. They’re scared, sure, but there’s some semblance of hope in them. Some glint of happiness. 

Ruy was like that, once. When he was seventeen and eighteen, fresh off their victory against the tsar. When the city was cold and crumbling and days were long but none of that mattered because they had  _ won.  _ When Alvar was always by his side, and the two would run through the streets and laugh together. When the world was narrowed down to one place, one moment, and everything was aglow in the light of Alvar’s smile. 

Alvar doesn’t smile like that anymore. He’s sadder, angrier, even around Ruy. Happiness stolen away long ago. 

Ruy finds himself wanting to preserve this kid’s happiness for as long as possible. 

“Actually.” He says. “I’m going to need you to leave the building right now. Have a good day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!


	4. Tonight There's A Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Juline Dizznee finds a child, our scam team gets closer to Paris, and the city of Petersburg lights up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Doesn't update for a month  
> Me: updates twice in one week 
> 
> (Anyway, check out this amazing fanart by @lemontarto over on tumblr! She did such a fantastic job with Alvar and Ruy. {https://lemontarto.tumblr.com/post/629713110571384832/some-ravioli-to-cheer-up-my-child-this-is-based})

_ St Petersburg, Russia. October 13, 1917.  _

_ Juline stumbles out of the collapsing stables, letting go of the horse she’s holding. It gallops off through the streets and she groans; it’s never going to come back. _

_ Not that it matters, really. No one’s going to have any need for horses now.  _

_ She’s not sure how long it’s been since the first gunshots were fired. Six or seven hours, probably. Juline is just lucky she wasn’t caught in the crossfire and had enough time to get all the horses out.  _

_ A small wail echoes across the crumbling land, and Juline’s head snaps up. She knows that sound; she’s been listening to a kid cry for going on five years now.  _

_ Sure enough, there’s a girl sitting in the rubble, knees curled up to her chest and cheeks wet with tears. She looks about four or five; just a bit younger than Dex, if Juline is right. Her heart twists and she holds out a hand to the child.  _

_ “Hey,” Juline says softly. “What happened to you?” _

_ “I- I don’t know,” the girl says, teal eyes filling with tears again. Juline looks her over and something heavy drops in her gut- this is most  _ definitely  _ Princess Bianca. “I hit my head, and I feel sick, but I don’t know why.” She looks up at Juline. “Why?” _

_ “There was an accident,” Juline says, taking the girl’s tiny hand in hers. “You must have gotten hurt.” _

_ “Oh. Are you my mom?” _

_ Juline blinks. Then blinks again. She’s almost positive that Queen Della is dead; there’s no one still alive to take care of this girl.  _

_ Exhaling, she makes a decision.  _

_ “No, sweetie. But I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” _

_ “Okay,” the girl says. “That sounds good.” _

_ And so the Dizznees gain another child- Biana, she’s called. Juline worries sometimes that it’s too close to Bianca, but it was a name Bi herself chose and Juline isn’t cruel enough to take it away.  _

_ Besides, who would look for the last remaining member of the Vacker family in the poorest parts of St Petersburg? These streets are cesspits, filled with violence and alcohol and… _

_ Sickness.  _

_ Juline isn’t dying, not yet. But she will be. She’s seen what this sickness can do, watched her own husband waste to nothing in front of her. And it’s only a matter of time- there’s no way they can afford the medicine.  _

_ Still, as she sits in her bed and forces herself to open her eyes again, she’s comforted. Because Biana is still out there, still free, still alive.  _

_ And no one can ever know.  _

* * *

_ St Petersburg, Russia. February 27, 1927.  _

“And then he just… let me go.” Fitz finishes. “I don’t know why. I was sure I was going to get arrested or something.”

“Huh.” Biana frowns, tapping the arm of her chair. “That’s weird. They’ve been cracking down on a lot of scam teams lately- throwing them in jail or worse. I’m glad you got out, but that’s weird.”

“What should we do?”

Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. Hiding somewhere else would be useless. We’re almost ready to leave. All Dex needs to do is forge our train passes and we’re good.” She turns behind her, to where Dex is furiously scribbling on a yellowed sheet of paper. “Speaking of which, are you heading down to the printer’s today?”

“Yeah.” Dex says, not looking up. Biana raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay then. I’m gonna go to the market, see if there’s any food on sale. Fitz, why don’t you go with Dex?”

“Me? Why would I-” Fitz starts. He’s not sure why he’s so opposed to that idea; Dex hasn’t been so much as  _ rude _ to him since that very first day. Still, there’s something clenching his gut that makes him want to run. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone. Not after yesterday.”

“Right,” Fitz nods. “Of course.”

Dex stands up, folding the letter he was writing into an envelope and putting a stamp in the corner. “Okay, let’s go. I want to mail this on the way there.”

“Have fun!” Biana calls as they step into the late-morning light. 

* * *

_ Dear Mom,  _

_ How are you? How are the triplets? I hope it’s not too cold out there; I know Rex was trying to learn how to knit, but knowing him, that won’t go well. _

_ Things are all right over here. Bi and I have food, and we think we found a way to make a lot of money. Maybe even enough to finally get you out of debt so we can all live together again.  _

_ Petersburg is… tense, right now. Like everything is holding its breath in anticipation. There’s a rumor that Prince Fitzroy and Princess Bianca survived, so all the officers have been on high alert. We’re okay, though. _

_ And we made a friend! He’s nice- kind of confused, but nice. And he’s super pretty  _

_ (Please pretend I didn’t write that.) _

_ I miss you. The city’s not the same without you here to fill up every small hideaway we get with laughter and music. Bi and I are trying, though. We’ll get through this. _

_ See you soon.  _

_ Love, Dex.  _

* * *

“Okay,” Dex says as they exit the printer’s, a stack of paper clutched in one hand. The sky is beginning to darken, rays of pink and orange spreading across like paint on a canvas. Fitz is surprised it took so long; he’d always thought of printing as something fast and easy, but there are all these  _ parts.  _ And the travel passes aren’t even done- Dex still needs to forge the signatures on them. “We should get back. Biana will be-”

He trails off, looking at something over Fitz’s shoulder. Fitz spins around to see three uniformed men moving down the street toward them. He swallows and starts to back away. 

“Hey! You!” One of the men calls. “It’s almost curfew! What are you doing out?”

“Uh.” Fitz says. Dex grabs his arm and pulls him into the alley to the side of the building, hurrying them both up a fire escape. 

“Go, go, go,” he says through gritted teeth once they’re on the roof, running along the shingles with a grace Fitz is positive he can’t replicate. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

They leap between houses and swing around water towers as the sun sets, lights in windows popping up like stars. Finally, Dex comes to a stop on top of a building on a particularly large hill. 

“I think we lost them,” he says, looking back at Fitz. “What?”

“I’ve never seen it this high up before,” Fitz whispers. From where they stand, the whole city’s spread out underneath them like a glittering map. Each lamp in each home is a shining jewel, calling to him. “It’s beautiful.”

Dex snorts, sitting near the edge of the roof and staring at the lights below. “Trust me, it’s a lot less pretty when you grow up down there.”

“I didn’t say pretty. I said beautiful.”

“Okay,  _ your majesty,  _ what’s the difference, then?”

“Pretty is surface level. It’s looking at someone and thinking  _ ‘oh, they’re attractive.’  _ Beautiful is… more than that. It’s watching someone live and listening to them talk and seeing all their faults but still loving them. If something’s beautiful, that doesn’t mean it’s perfect- it’s just messed up in a beautiful way.”

“Oh.” Dex is quiet for a moment, the two looking at the city lights. Fitz feels an overwhelming urge to take back his words. 

“I don’t actually know the city very well,” he says. “I’ve lived here for a few years, but it’s mostly just… work, sleep, repeat. Nothing like-” he waves a hand at the scene in front of them- “nothing like this.”

Dex sighs, leaning back on his hands. “Petersburg is this odd mix of amazing and dangerous, and most things here walk that line  _ very  _ closely. So when you grow up on the streets…” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words. “It’s hard to make an honest living. And much, much easier to get drawn into things that aren’t exactly sanitary.” 

“That’s why you’re so good at forging stuff,” Fitz responds. “Right? And why Biana is so persuasive. You guys do this a lot.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” Dex sighs. “Our mom never wanted us to be scammers. She used to work in the palace stables, but when the tsar was killed…” he mimes an explosion. “That whole line of business kind of blew up. She and Dad did their best, and we managed to stay afloat for a while, but-” he bites his lip. “When Dad died, Bi and I knew we had to do something. We had more siblings by that point- the triplets, they’re thirteen now. And Mom’s few jobs weren’t enough to keep us fed.”

“So you turned to stealing.”

Dex shrugs, kicking his heel against the brick of the building. “Stealing, scamming, anything that could get us food or money. We ran into trouble a few times, but we managed to slip away. The streets of Petersburg aren’t too bad if you have someone by your side.”

“Oh,” Fitz says. The words  _ I’m sorry  _ seem too small for this, too small for someone who’s been through so much hurt. “I guess I can see why you don’t think the city is beautiful, then.”

“No, actually, I think it is.” Dex turns to face Fitz, eyes fixed on the roof beneath them. “You said that beautiful doesn’t mean perfect, and Petersburg isn’t perfect- it’s dirty and messy and terrifying. But I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m willing to take the bad for the good that I’ve gotten. The city gave me Biana, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” 

He looks up, straight into Fitz’s eyes. “And that’s love, isn’t it? Seeing all the cracks and loving it anyway.  _ Understanding  _ it anyway.”

Something about the way he’s talking makes it clear that he doesn’t just mean Petersburg. But Fitz doesn’t have time to think about that right now. 

“Yeah. That’s love.”

More lights appear in windows below them, glittering into existence. It’s a sign of life, of the people who hide in the shadows and laugh with their families. A sign of home. 

Unconsciously, Fitz pulls the music box out of his coat pocket. 

“What’s that?” Dex asks. Fitz hands it to him, and Dex wrinkles his nose. “Is this a Vacker relic? Where did you-” he fiddles with something inside, some piece of machinery, and music starts to play. “Whoa.”

Tinkling music drifts over the rooftop, a memory tugging in the back of Fitz’s mind; he should know this. He should know this. 

He  _ does  _ know this. 

Slowly, quietly, he starts to hum along as a scene takes shape in his mind. 

_ A smiling red-haired woman leaning over him, a tiny girl by his side. The very same music box in his lap, emitting a soft tune that Fitz knows by heart.  _

“ _ Once upon a December _ ,” he sings quietly as the song ends. Dex gapes at him wordlessly, closing the music box with a silent  _ click.  _

“Fitz, what-”

Fitz meets his eyes. “We need to get to Paris.” 

* * *

_ Dear Mom, _

_ I’m sorry the letter’s short today- I don’t have much time to write.  _

_ We’re leaving the city soon, heading away. I won’t say where, for your safety and ours, but rest assured we’ll be as safe as possible.  _

_ If all goes well, I’ll be home soon. We’ll all be together.  _

_ I love you.  _

_ Dex.  _

_ P.S. I said, in my last letter, that my friend was pretty. That’s not true- or, it is, but he’s more than that. He’s beautiful.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


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